Sherlock's Shadows
by BrodyMichael
Summary: Everyone has a shadow. They can mean many different things, but can also transform into something else. This short story belongs to two young women who finally get to travel to their dream country: England. While there, they run into a certain other two people while getting tangled into the scene of the crime. Now, they will have to change all of their original plans to be tourists
1. Why did you do that?

"Hey, I'm going to hit the loo quick," Sage said, setting down her empty mug with a clink.

"What are you hitting?" asked Natalie, her feet tapping to the rhythm to the pub's cadence.

"The loo…You know the bathroom." Sage slapped Natalie on the shoulder. "We learned that in the fifth-grade, Nellie. We're in England. Get with the lingo." She hopped lightly off the stool and pushed past the tangled groups of collage boys and middle-aged men, with her head held high, glancing from side to side.

Nellie shook her head. Sage always was like that in crowds, watching movements, listening to snippets of meaningless conversations. Nellie took the last swig of her beer and just set it down when a man occupied the seat next to her. She wasn't going to pay any attention to him at first, but he on the other hand had differing thoughts.

"Here, this one's on me," he said. Nellie tilted her head as a gesture of kindness.

"Thanks, but no, thank you. I'm finished for tonight; just waiting for my friend." She pushed the mug back to him and looked at him through the dim lighting above the bar. He had a kind, young face; the stubble of a blond beard growing. He reached out as she was returning her hand to her lap.

"Please, it'll break my heart if you don't have a drink with me." Natalie gave her head a tiny shake. "Well, if not that, then come with me to get something decent to eat." Nellie pulled away from his touch; slowly though, she didn't want be too cruel.

"That sounds nice, but I'm sorry. I can't go with you. I already have plans with a friend." Nellie responded with a small smile.

"Maybe—"His plea was cut off by Sage. Her look was deadly as she said, "You will have to find some other girl to ruin. Or better yet, how 'bout I call the police." The man mumbled, " Geez, lay off. I was just looking for a good time." He backed away, a scowl on his pretty face. Before he left the pub, the man chugged his full mug and stormed out, the slam of the glass door muted by the people in the pub and the television blasting a football(soccer) game. Nellie watched it as the UK scored a goal against Australia, causing more ruckus from the fans cheering madly throughout the cramped pub.

"Why did you do that?" Nellie said, exasperated.

"Do what? Save you from a night of torture? Because you're my friend. Seems a bit obvious, doesn't it?" Sage replied mater-of-factly.

Nellie sighed once again—seems like she's been sighing a lot since she met Sage all those years ago—and scooted off the stool. "Well, thank you. But I would like to have more than one friend. Having a foreign friend would be cool. I didn't get his name even," Natalie pouts as she retrieved her jacket form the ebony racks.

"His name is Timothy Hugher. Age 30. Graduated from Universty of Chichester, and still lives with his mother," Sage answers inanimately, staring around the place with bright green eyes that are both vacant and aware.

Nellie buttoned up her faded brown leather jacket smoothly and says in a tired voice, "I guess this is the part where I ask 'How on earth could you have known that, Sage?'"

"It's really quite simple actually. You're going to laugh," she glances at Nellie, "Or not. For his name and age: I pick-pocketed him." Nellie glared at her, implying that that was a bad move. Sage went on as if not noticing the look. "He wore a cap with Chichester's logo and well, his clothes were iron pressed, no creases."

"But that doesn't mean he's with his mom." Nellie interjected, thinking she could stump her.

"He had a note sticking out from his pocket. I couldn't read it all, but the bottom half talked about supplies to buy, don't forget to sweep the garage, and signed with _love, mom_."

Nellie crossed her arms. "I suppose you're right. We should get back to the room; it's late." The two women walked out into the chilly autumn night air. While walking down the somewhat busy streets, they debated what to do the next day. How touristy they wanted to be - should they go to the Adelphi Theatre or visit Courtauld Gallery?-or if they just wanted to stroll around a few parks.

"Maybe we should have called a cab," Sage said after passing the fourth block. The streets have become deserted now in the late hour.

"You're so lazy. It's only two more blocks. Besides, then we'd have to pay the—" Both stopped in their tracks.

A streetlamp flickered with a scream of terror. A scream of pain. A final scream before death. Sage took off at full pace in the scream's direction before Nellie could hold her back, to remind her to be cautious. She followed after her only friend, the scream ringing in her ears and hoping desperately that Sage's wouldn't be the next she hears.


	2. Anitdote

The alleyway was dark. Natalie tripped over more than one wooden crate of who-knows-what. She slowed down as she saw the way ahead was lit from a distant light above a door which held a silhouette of a person. She crept closer until she was positive who it was. "Sage?" Sage didn't answer, only motioning with her hand to stand beside her; her head was looking down. Nellie knew before she saw. A body of a woman, hardly younger than they were, was lying in a pool of midnight blood that streamed from what clearly were stab wounds. Some of the sky—stars twinkling like a night light in a child's room—was reflected in it.

"Do you think she bled to death?" Nellie asked quietly. Sage walked around to the side of the body, looking intensely at it.

"No." Her hands moved smoothly over the body, touching light as a feather over the arms, legs, neck and head, looking for signs of damage. Too late Nellie realized that Sage's fingerprints would be all over without the sterilized gloves Nellie kept in her purse. "Besides the obvious three stab wounds in her abdomen, there are bruises on both of her upper forearms. They're outline resembles large fingers with a powerful hold. On his left index finger he wore a ring." Sage paused, as if connecting something. "She has similar markings on her neck. A broken wrist suggests she tried to put up a fight to get away, but he grabbed her, twisting her back to him. He must have stabbed her then. But the death blow was a forceful kick to the cranium, shattered the skull into pieces. See how inflamed her head is? The brain practically exploded." Sage stands up slowly, with a soft sigh. "That could have been you tonight, if you went with him."

"What?" Nellie asked, confused. But Sage didn't reply in the way she thought she would. Instead it was, "Behind you!"

Nellie turned in time for the fist to go flying to the side of her face, knocking her off balance into the alley wall. She regained her stance and jumped at her attacker's back before he reached Sage. Nellie threw her lengthy arms around his neck and pulled with all her strength to bring him crashing down. She slid out from the falling form as he hit the ground. Their attacker's head smashed on the damp pavement, making a disturbing sound like broken glass, only slightly more muffled. Nellie flinched at the sound. His body twitched oddly. She barely had time to examine who he was when she heard Sage let out a gasp.

Nellie shifted ever so slowly to face Sage. She was held at knife point. "Don't move anymore or I'll slit you're friend's throat." There was something familiar about the voice, but Nellie didn't have time to place it. The man was in the shadows, his whole body jittering from fear or excitement or adrenaline. Probably all of them. Nellie knew that's what she felt like, but looking at Sage, her eyes calm and body still, Nellie also felt that everything would be alright. Her friend had a plan.

Suddenly, the man fell to his knees. Someone had smashed a crate on him from behind; someone who had been waiting in the total darkness. Two figures appeared. One tall, moving like he was part of the wind. The other shorter, but with a strong air about him. "Are you injured?" the shorter one asked, coming by their sides after tying up the criminal and removing his knife. He looked at Nellie's face. "It's okay, I'm a doctor."

"Just a punch to the face. Nothing I haven't had before," Nellie reassured him.

"What about you?" The man looked toward Sage, but she waved him off saying she wasn't touched. All the while the taller, skinnier man was bent over the woman's body. Sage went to him, mumbling her theories to him. Nellie was more interested to see who the attackers were and whether they were still alive to have justice's hand clamped firmly around them. Granted, if they were dead, she wouldn't have complained either way. She realized the man who checked on her came with her to the first attacker.

"I'm Natalie, by the way. Natalie James." She held out her hand.

"John Watson," he said in return, shaking her hand. "I would say it's nice to meet you. But I don't think this situation is a nice time to meet someone." Nellie laughed, "I agree."

After the small talk, Nellie pulled out a pocket flashlight and scanned over the man lying on the ground. Her first attacker had dark, curly brown hair, a flat nose, and his fingers on his right hand were bent at weird angles. Maybe the girl had broken them in an attempt to flee. He looked normal, an average man coming home form a long day at work. But in the shadows, his true form was revealed. John Watson held his hand over the man's mouth. When he felt no air, he moved his hands to his wrist for a second opinion. John shook his head. "You killed him."

"Oh well. Good riddance," she said lightly. "What? Bastard killed that girl and was going to do the same to us. It was self-defense," she said to his surprised look.

"It's alright. No one's going to blame you."

They went to check the other attacker. Nellie stopped short as soon as he was in the light. It was an unconscious Timothy. That's when she noticed his ring on his left hand. She remembered when Timothy grabbed her hand. It was there then. "Jesus. It really could have been me tonight."

John went to secure his bonds more tightly in response to Nellie's shock. "What do you mean?" he asked confused.

"I met him at the pub earlier. Wanted me to have dinner with him. First time I met him. I said no, well Sage told him no. She really saved me."

Just then there was a swift movement; something falling to the ground. The two whipped around, ready for another attack. But there wasn't. Nellie ran to the other two on the ground. The tall man was holding Sage as she clutched her side in pain. Her breathing suddenly came in rasps.

"Sherlock, what happened?" Watson asked.

"She collapsed." His hands removed Sage's and ripped off her coat. There was a shallow, wet gash on her side. "The knife must have slipped over her side when he fell." The man, Sherlock, touched two fingers to the slit. Sage gasped. He brought them to his nose, sniffed, then warily stuck out his tongue to them. "Poison. The blade was poisoned."

At his words, Nellie flung her purse from her shoulder to sit in front of Sage. She dug in, throwing out thin, plastic bottles filled with plants or liquid, some clear, other an assortment of colors. "What kind?" she asked frantically.

"Fiddleback spider venom," Sherlock answered, watching her closely, curiously.

"Dammit! I don't have that one's antidote!"

"Lucky for you, I do," Sherlock said solemnly.

"Well, give it to her!" Natalie yelled, frustrated at how calm he was, when her friend was dying.

"Obviously, I don't have it with me. John, get them to a cab. Bring her to the apartment." He gave out the order and was gone, walking swiftly away, leaving Watson and Nellie to cradle Sage to the street. There was a cab waiting for them. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen; but it came from him. Watson slid into the seat and Nellie followed after easing Sage in. The cabbie drove off before Nellie even slammed the heavy door. She looked at her brave, rash friend. Her copper locks stuck to her forehead with sweat. Sage's eyes dropped shut, her breathing more shallow than ever.

"Hold on, Sage. He'll help you."

**Well, how bout that. What a weird place to meet those two. Well, not really. Does Sage make it out alive? If she does, how will this change their plans?**

**I plan on having this be a short story because long ones I don't usually finish. If I feel like adding more I can always make a sequel, but only if I have enough fans. :P**

**PLEASE KEEP READING AND REVIEW.**


	3. Waiting for Tea

**Here's chapter three. It's been a long time and I'm sorry. I took the notebook with me everywhere but I never could come to write the story. I had to lock myself in a quiet room till it was done.**

"How long until she wakes up?" Nellie asked at the doorway looking into the room, lit with only one light on a bedside table. John stood up after checking Sage's vitals, who lay on top of a perfectly made bed. Nellie took a thin sheet that their landlady set out for her and threw it over Sage's quiet body. Already her fever had broken. But now shivers took over as the sweat cooled.

John answered, leaning against the wall, "Several hours, I think. The antidote works faster asleep than if she was awake. She'll be fine in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, asides from a minor headache and a little soreness. The poison constricted her muscles and blocked arteries." Sherlock said with a confident look on his face. Nellie still worried; it showed in her moving hands, constantly adjusting the sheet for Sage. John coughed. She looked at him.

"How about a cup of tea?" he asked kindly. Nellie nodded, "I suppose that would be nice. Thank you."

"I'll be right back, then." He gave Sherlock a frown as if meaning, '_don't do anything rude_,' and walked out of the dim room. Sherlock sat down on a wooden armchair in the corner, at first looking at Sage, then shifting to Nellie sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed.

Nellie felt his eyes examining her and she couldn't hold it in any longer. "What are you _doing_?" She asked exasperated and looked up from the quilted sheet under her feet to see a slightly startled Sherlock.

"I'm figuring out who you are. You two females are quite peculiar."

Nellie blinked. "Females? Peculiar?"

"Yes. Females: being the sex that bears young or produces eggs; which is obviously what you are with those under your Wilsons Leather jacket that was a gift from your mother." He spoke in a rushed yet calm voice. Sherlock smiled innocently. Nellie huffed and covered her chest more tightly.

"I know what female means. It was just that not many people talk like that; so fact-like," She said, trying to make sense of how he knew it was a gift.

"Well, others are inferior." He held up a hand before Nellie could make a statement. "See, the human brain is always taking in information. Snaps images and stores them. Most can only recollect certain amounts of information at certain times. I know how to use it correctly and to the maximum capacity. I remember everything that's important."

Nellie retorted, "We'll see if you do use it better than us."

He smirked, ready for the challenge.

"How did you know it was that type of poison?"

"I experiment. Most poisons have distinct characteristics; taste, smell, and such."

Nellie nodded. It seemed easy enough if you have a brilliant memory. "Next question. How come you were in the alley in the first place?"

Sherlock didn't even blink. "We were following you."

That answer startled Nellie. "What? Why? Should I be afraid of you guys too?"

Sherlock frowned, "Don't be absurd. It was the man you met at the bar that we were interested in." Sherlock leaned forward, his elbows resting easily on his knees. Nellie watched him keenly through a growing weariness that was setting. It was past two in the morning. He continued in a flat voice, sounding bored. "As soon as he left, so did we. Timothy was a felon. He had a tendency to abuse women and took it too far three years ago. He was inevitably let go."

"What's he to you?" she asked curious.

"It was brought to my attention when a mother came to me about her missing daughter." After a moment, Sherlock said, "What? No more questions?"

Nellie sat up straight and untangled her legs to throw them over the bedside. Ignoring the tingling of her sleeping legs, she asked, "How did you know there were two thugs waiting in the darkness?"

"There were four pairs of footprints, neither of them leaving the ally. Two of them, yours, were smaller, sizes 9½ and 9 in US women's. The other, sizes 14 in UK men's."

"How could you be so precise?" Nellie asked in astonishment.

"By measuring them," He answered simply.

His confidence was prickling at Nellie's temper, mostly because his method was so simple in every answer—just like Sage. Sherlock sat back in the chair, almost lazily, he said, "It was a good thing we were close. Otherwise, your friend would have been inflicted with much more poison than any hospital could cure."

Nellie glared up at the black, curly haired man with crystal eyes. "Are you saying that I wouldn't have been able to stop him; that she didn't have a plan to get us out?"

He squinted, a look of interest formed in the corner of his mouth. "Yes," he said quietly.

Natalie James jumped off the bed and stood in front of him. "You're wrong." She spun around about to rush out of the room. But there was the sound of ceramic crashing to the floor and two sets of cussing. Nellie looked down. Her white blouse was soaking and it was hot on her skin. Cups lay on the hard wood with tea streaming down the miniscule grain lines.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. I…I… I'm sorry," she said to John Watson in front of her, equally soaked. She walked out of the room leaving John mumbling to the air.

John looked to Sherlock and said in an annoyed voice, "I told you not to be rude. What did you say? Never mind. It doesn't matter." John bent to his knees, picking up the cups. He went to the cupboard, pulled out a towel. "Here. You can clean this up." John threw it into Sherlock's lap and walked out.

Nellie was in the kitchen, dabbing at her shirt with a cloth from the sink. "Is he always that way?" She whispered as John dropped the empty cups into the sink.

He laughed. "Pretty much. You get used to it."

Nellie leaned against the table and crumpled the damp paper into a ball. It was no use anymore. "And you live with him?"

"Yes, for a few years now. It's been quite the time with him."

Nellie glanced up, a thought crossing her mind. She said slowly, because it would be awkward, "You're not –"

But John knew where the question was going. "No. No. Nothing like that. We're flat mates." John stood in front of her, his arms crossed. "He's a private investigator. I sort of tag along on his investigations. Well, actually, most of the time I get _myself_ caught up in his cases."

Nellie smiled, "I know what you mean; happens to me all the time. Sage is… she's different." She kept poking at her shirt and pinching the fabric away from her stomach. The tea had turned cold and was giving her goose bumps even under her jacket. She sighed. "This is the first time wearing this shirt and now I've gone and ruined it."

"If it gets washed right away the stain might come out," he said helpfully.

Nellie said, a little bitter, "It'll be dried in by the time I get to the hotel. Besides, I can't leave Sage."

John didn't look disturbed. "It's not a problem. I'll let Mrs. Hudson know. I'm sure she will let you barrow a shirt while yours is being washed."

"Um…ok?" Nellie said.

Ten minutes later, Nellie found herself on their printed sofa, buttoned in a blouse that her mother wouldn't even catch herself wearing yet. "Thank you very much for the shirt and tea, Mrs. Hudson." She smiled sweetly to their landlady as she was handed a new cup of tea.

"It's my pleasure. As long as you're here, you can call me if you need help with anything else." Mrs. Hudson walked out of the flat, a light skip in her step as she closed the door to the stairs. John came to sit in the chair next to her, looking puzzled but in a dry shirt.

"What's that look for?" She asked and he looked away from the door Mrs. Hudson disappeared behind to Nellie.

"She's never in that good of a mood." He picked up a cup of tea from the end table.

"Hmm. Well, she was extremely nice to me. But her style isn't as nice." Nellie grinned, holding her arms away to show him the temporary clothing. John was in mid sip and swallowed quickly to avoid losing his drink. He coughed a few times before he could get out, "It looks… fine on you."

"Really?" Nellie raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it's not the most current I admit, but you can pull it off."

Nellie shook her head and felt a wave of tiredness. She hadn't gotten over the jet leg yet and had managed to stay up till three a.m. John notice.

"Here," he said, handing her a quilt. "You can go to sleep. I'll wake you if there's any process with Sage." He got up slowly and stood by Sherlock, who had been silently watching from the doorway where Sage lay.

Nellie wrapped the blanket around her and let her head fall back. She lay for a few minutes trying to resist her drooping lids.

_What a strange day and strange people. It's weird, but they remind me of us in a twisted way._

**So. This is what took me so long to publish. I was having writer's block and also it's hard to keep Holmes and Watson in character. Bare with me. And Comment please.**


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